Guardians of Guardians
by Sablue
Summary: It's more than anything she'd ever hoped for - McCall, Argent, and the Sheriff would have been perfectly serviceable guardians, but this? Power is born from sacrifice. Sacrifice is pain. And perhaps, she thinks, the sacrifice of the guardians of guardians is just a little bit more perfect than she could have ever anticipated. The pain from the death of a child lingers.


When the first trickles of power seep back into the Nematon, she doesn't even notice. She's not expecting it - power comes from sacrifice and that hasn't happened yet – so she's not waiting for the chill that runs up her spine and down her legs into the currents under the earth.

But when the power comes faster and thickerand so much heavier than all of the others - and why hadn't she thought to sacrifice three at once _before - _she notices. And once she notices, it's not hard to figure out the source.

"Oh," she says to the night air. She takes a deep breath, the world spinning, and she can feel the power swell. "_Oh._"

And she laughs, because it's more than anything she'd ever hoped for - McCall, Argent, and the Sheriff would have been perfectly serviceable guardians, but _this_?

How many times now? How many times had Stiles danced and spun his father away from the danger of the truth, had Scott alternatively attacked and bowed to threats to his mother, had Allison stood tall and _fought _not just for her father but for his ideas?

Guardians of guardians. How _perfect_.

The rush lessens but the power doesn't, buzzing under her skin and leaving her dizzy. She could do it now, she's certain. She could destroy Deucalion and every other werewolf or creature or human in Beacon Hills and the territory would be _hers_-

The wind rattles the doors to the root cellar, and she turns to look at them almost absently.

An idea blossoms.

Power is born from sacrifice. Sacrifice is pain. The greater the pain, the greater the sacrifice, the greater the power. And perhaps, she thinks, the sacrifice of guardians of guardians is just a little bit more perfect than she could have ever anticipated. The pain from a child's death _lingers_.

And before she realizes it she's opening the doors and stepping down, the power still thrumming fresh and new through her. As she steps onto the ground, they all turn to look at her and she takes a moment to drink in their attention.

For their parts, McCall and the Sheriff frown at her, but their nervousness shows and it makes their gaze less intimidating than it could have been. Argent, however, is much more skilled at keeping his fear hidden (or hasn't yet learned to fear her) and gives her a scathing glare.

How amusing.

"I have news," she says. "My plans have changed, so I'm afraid I don't need to sacrifice any of you."

She'll be killing them later of course. Can't have them interfering, loose ends that they are. But there's no point in letting them know just yet.

"Really? And we're meant to believe that." The Sheriff asks, the look of exasperation and ridicule on his face something she's seen many times on Stiles. And now would never have to see again.

She gestures in mock surprise. "Why, I would have thought that you'd like the news! I've no more need-"

"Who did you kill instead?" Argent snaps. If she had met him before all this, before Kali and her betrayal and the power, she might have flinched. Instead she smiles sweetly.

"Oh, I didn't _sacrifice_ anyone," she says, emphasizing the word. 'Sacrifice' and 'killing' _were_ different, though she's not surprised that even Argent can't see the distinction. "They sacrificed themselves."

They still don't get it, but there's something forming behind Argent's eyes, something wary – a thin crack in his otherwise perfect mask,

"They were the perfect sacrifices, and willingly given!" And she has to pause in sheer _delight _at the thought. None of the others had been willing and oh, the difference that made. "How much they must have cared for you, to give themselves over like that. To die in your stead."

Argent's beginning to go pale. McCall and the Sheriff have others - coworkers, relatives, friends - so they're unsure of who she's talking about still. Argent on the other hand has so, so few who would stand by him. His wife and sister are dead, Gerard cast out. And now she can see Argent starting to go through the list of those who would fight for him, trying to find those who would choose to die for him, and coming up with one name.

A name that's causing him no small amount of distress, if she's reading his face correctly.

Julia sighs dramatically. "They had such bright futures ahead of them, too. That makes it better, you know? More of a sacrifice. Stiles-" The Sheriff flinches hard at the name, "I'm sure could have done great things. Gone on to college, met a girl, settled down. Scott, too." And now McCall is staring at her, eyes blown wide. Julia smiles, and turns to Argent. "And _Allison... _oh, Allison I'm sure _ could have_-"

"You're lying!" Argent accuses, but it's weak. He's not half as stoic as he was a moment ago, his breathing coming faster and his teeth grinding as he strains impossibly against his ropes.

Julia eyes him greedily. Pain is rolling off him in waves, and it's _delicious_.

"Your daughter is dead," she says and almost reels as the power flowing to the Nematon spikes. "How does it feel, hunter, to know your daughter gave up her life for yours?"

"She wouldn't," Argent croaks. "Didn't. She- We talked about- I told her-"

"Scott wouldn't let her," McCall agrees. "Or Stiles. And Stiles wouldn't let Scott."

"You're a liar," the Sheriff says, and Julia turns to face all of them as Argent visibly tries to gather himself. "Playing mind games to throw us off guard, stop us from trying to escape."

The power gutters as Argent is able to pull himself together, taking comfort in the Sheriff's words, and she realizes that control is slipping from her. They think she's trying to keep them from escaping? Growling, she snaps her fingers, watches their faces as the ropes fall from around them.

Shock. Disbelief. The edges of horrific pain.

"I have no need for you. Escape if you like, it makes no difference," she says, feeling the power rush through her. "The sacrifice has been made. Your children are dead."

With a roar, Argent charges her, eyes wild and fists close to his body like a boxer. Power springs to her will and need and the world around her slows. Sidestepping, she backhands Argent into the wall. He crumples into a heap as time resumes its normal speed.

"I wonder what kind of future Allison might have had if she wasn't _your _daughter," she hisses and uses the responding power surge to send the ropes slithering after Argent like snakes. "Or what might have happened if you'd just done a better job of _keeping_ the truth of who her family was from her."

Argent chokes, his face deathly pale and hands shaking even as he tries to fight off the ropes.

"On the other hand..." Julia smiles, "Perhaps it isn't your fault. Like mother like daughter, right? And Allison was even able to do it without _you_ there to hold her."

The Sheriff and McCall attack then, and she forgets what she was about to say next. Stilinski is a step faster, but easy to take down with a flying crate to his skull. He sprawls backwards and Julia presses the air down around him to keep him there. The distraction allows McCall to lunge forward and wrap her hands around Julia's neck, fingers searching and reaching for the nerve cluster at the base of the skull.

Instead of throwing her back, Julia grabs McCall's wrists, twisting and forcing her power into the weak flesh. McCall freezes from head to toe, completely motionless, but not unconscious.

"What about you, Melissa?" Julia asks, pouring power into her voice and pulling her words from currents in the air and the earth. "You _could_ have let Scott go with his father. The man wanted him, could have been good for him, but no - you were selfish. You wanted your son back with you in Beacon Hills, where he was turned, where he was threatened, where he _died. _You _fought _for this!"

McCall's face twitches slightly, and Julia frowns at the relatively lackluster power surge. She would have thought that McCall, probably the most emotive of all of them, would have been the easiest to crack but then she glances down at the scrubs her captive still wears. A good nurse would be used to keeping death and her grief over it from interfering in her work.

So Julia tries again.

"I would have thought that you'd have done more, considering his history," she says.

McCall looks confused.

"You _don't know?" _Julia asks. And of course McCall doesn't. Scott probably didn't say anything, and probably got his friends to keep quiet too, and now that fact is going to work to Julia's advantage.

"This isn't the first time Scott's tried to commit suicide, just the first time he's _succeeded. _On a school trip for lacrosse, a few weeks ago, your son doused himself in gasoline and lit up a road flare. The only thing that saved _you_ from having to bury a blackened piece of _charcoal_ was Stiles and Lydia."

Every word is delivered as precisely and methodically as nail in a coffin. Below Julia's fingers, McCall is trembling so badly even the spell can't stop all of it.

"Did you really see no sign?" Julia asks. "Your son almost kills himself in the most painful way imaginable and you didn'tnotice_ anything? _What kind of mother are you, Melissa? You fight so hard for him, and then don't even take care of him."

Julia take a breath. Waits for that to sink in, and then delivers her final blow.

"Scott didn't sacrifice himself for _love _but for a chance at _relief."_

And McCall breaks. Julia releases her hold, and McCall falls to her knees, a tortured sob escaping as she presses a fist to her mouth. The power from her is just as heady as Argent's, and Julia is so drunk on everything she's gained so far that she has to lean back against a beam, distracted and dizzy, and accidentally releases her hold on the Sheriff.

In one strong, fluid movement Stilinski charges her again, _snarling_ at her through the blood on his face. A part of Julia admires that persistence - such a good trait for a guardian – and the rest curses herself for her momentary lapse. She jerks to the side as the Sheriff lands a solid punch into the beam, and follows it with a full body tackle that actually makes her take a step back.

Clearly expecting her to be as solid as she was (and what else would she be, with the sacrifice of three children and the pain of two other guardians coursing through her?), the Sheriff staggers, floundering to find his footing and she takes her chance to send a rope whipping around his ankle, hauling him away.

She takes a moment to catch her breath.

"And, of course, Stiles." She says, and trails off. She doesn't really know what to stay about Stiles. But it doesn't really matter. The power flowing into the Nematon and into her responds to her will and her desire to _hurt,_ to wring this sacrifice dry, and the words come. All she has to do is listen to them fall from her mouth.

"Personally, I'm not surprised it eventually came to this. After all," she laughs, "it's not like he's unused to doing things to help you, even if it's not his responsibility to do so. He showed up to crime scenes on school nights, went through the photos and notes, listened to his very own police scanner - he practically did your job for you."

"That has-"

"_Everything_ to do with it." Julia finishes, "Stiles _fed _you. Did your _job, _or as much of it as he could, for you. Even when it meant neglecting his studies. Kept you in the dark when it mattered and the truth about Beacon Hills could have killed you. Now why would he do that? Why would a child take _care _of their parents to the extent that Stiles does for you?"

She lets the silence stretch, and when the Sheriff doesn't provide an answer, she continues.

"Well, in your defense, I imagine it is a little hard to do your job as a parent when you're trying to open up your second bottle. Much easier to let the child do it for you, isn't it Sheriff?"

If the Sheriff was angry before, he's livid now, struggling to stand with the rope around his ankle. She watches him, and opens her mouth to strike again.

"What would Claudia think?"

Julia's almost entirely certain that she could have shot him and seen a less violent flinch.

"Are you caring for her son the way she would have? The way she would have _wanted _you to? If she stood before you now, could you even look her in the eye?"

The Sheriff is paper white now, and turned slightly away from her as though to defend against a blow. He looks as though he wants to say something, but every time he takes a breath, he lets it out again like the words have escaped him.

Julia's hands trembled and she laughs, short and harsh, because she can't help but picture what Kali would think of her now, would think of how the little weak soft-spoken Druid she had been had grown into a powerful Darach with words sharper than any ritual knife. For a moment, Kali's face is all she can see, shocked and intimidated and frightened and everything Julia had felt when her alpha had turned on her. On all of them.

Then the moment passes and she's in the root cellar, with this hunched, quaking man before her.

So she twists the knife harder.

"What were your last words to him, Sheriff?" She demands, forcing anger into her words. "Did you tell him you _loved _him, how grateful you were for all the things he did for you? You'll never have another chance now. He's gone. The body won't even be _warm _by the time you find him." Julia whispers the last part, but the way the Sheriff jerks she may as well have screamed. She presses a trembling hand to a beam to steady herself - power comes from sacrifice and sacrifice is pain, and the Sheriff is in _agony... _but not yet destroyed.

"Could Claudia forgive you for the second death Stiles went through alone?"

At her words, whatever fight was left in the Sheriff collapses as he curls into himself with a low sound like a wounded animal, and Julia takes a moment to appreciate the sight of him on his hands and knees. Actually, she rather likes the view they all present right now. Hunched. Broken. Defeated.

And then Julia smiles her sweetest smile of all.

"They were scared," she says, and the room goes still. "They were all terrified, in the end. They didn't do it the way I would have either..." She trails off thoughtfully as the information surfaces in her mind.

No one moves.

"Your children drowned," Julia tells them and fixes her gaze on Argent. "Allison _drowned herself_ because you couldn't keep her out of your little secrets."

Then to McCall. "Scott drowned himself because yourefused to let him go, but couldn't see what he needed."

And finally to the Sheriff. "Stiles drowned himself because the death of your wife wasn't enough to teach you about belief."

McCall is curled against the wall, her hands in her hair as she sobs. Next to her Argent is immobile, his face ashen as he stares at the dirt. The Sheriff twists in on himself as though she'd torn out his heart, the picture of a broken man.

Julia surveys them all. She's almost received all she can from this sacrifice. Almost. She takes a breath, pushes the power into her voice, unsure of what words she would speak next but eager for that one, final surge-

"Honestly," she purrs, "I'm not certain why I ever thought you were the guardians I needed at all."

There's no vocal response, no movement except to shift smaller under her gaze. All the same, the power rushes through her bones for the last time.

Satisfied, she turns and ascends the stairs. At the top, she snaps her fingers, and the stairs collapse behind her, the cellar doors banging shut.

_Now_ she's ready for Deucalion.


End file.
